At the Raven's Scream
by Celabrielle
Summary: Seven words, and she’d kill him. Seven words, that’s all he needed. If she waits, waits seven words; he’ll die for his cause. If she doesn’t… if she doesn’t, well then, he’ll just be another nameless death, one among thousands dead. But she


A cool wind sweeps across his face, carrying his tears away. A raven cries as she flies overhead, an omen of sorrow to come. The trees stir in the wind, a swishing and creaking, grounding him for his task. His slender hand tightens on the oaken wand at every noise, fear creeping into his heart. The raven lands upon a nearby branch, leering at him. His cold silver eyes meet the bird's black ones, and the raven caws. His hand shakes as he walks on, bracing himself against the inevitable. Once more, the raven takes flight, the sweep of wings constantly by his side as he walks on. He pauses as the raven rests upon his shoulder, brushing away a solitary tear as it slides down his cheek. She caws at him, sadly peering into his eyes. He shakes his head, and the raven flies beside him once more. He walks on.  
  
  
  
A woman stands in a field, silver robes swirling in the wind. Her long pale, almost white brown hair swirls too, whipping about as she raises her wand. Grey eyes stare coldly towards the wood, some hundred meters before her. She points her wand to the end of the path from the forest. Silver birch wood centered with unicorn tail hair, as ethereal as she is. A tear flies away into the wind, taken from her eye even as it falls. Cold eyes well with more tears, she pushes them back. Now is not the time to cry. Now is not the time for weakness. She waits.  
  
  
  
He draws near the edge of the forest, a cold hand squeezing his heart. Dread weighs heavy on his mind. Tears fall from his eyes, falling with a harsh splish onto the cold soil, or fleeing away with the icy wind. Silver blonde hair swirls over his forehead, falling into his eyes. He doesn't bother to brush it away. Appearance won't matter in the long run, anyway, no matter what he used to think. All that mattered now was telling her, before she kills him. Seven words, and she'd kill him. Seven words, that's all he needed. If she waits, waits seven words; he'll die for his cause. If she doesn't... if she doesn't, well then, he'll just be another nameless death, one among thousands dead. But she would wait. He knows she will. She has to.  
  
  
  
She tenses, she can sense as he draws near. A stony hatred grips her, merciless in it's ice. She is an ice statue, so like he once was. So like he will be. He will be, and she'll make him that way. He was ice hearted to her, so she would be to him. It is time.  
  
  
  
He reaches the edge, stepping out into the field. He sees her, icy in her beauty, standing there, wand raised. He freezes as the raven sweeps from behind him, to the center of the field, circling her, then returning to him, then flying around the edges of the field. She looks startled for a moment, a single moment, but then freezes into her icy mask once more. She raises her wand to kill him.  
  
  
  
She watches as he enters the field, so pale and proud, but something is different. He is not cold anymore, evidenced by the tearstains on his face. She steps back as a raven flies from the wood, circling her. She is startles, but carefully rebuilds her mask. She must not waver. She raises her wand.  
  
  
  
He walks towards her, eyes on her wand, the silver wood an eerie reminder of her cold gaze. She snarls when he is less than a meter away, and opens her mouth to utter the Curse. But he holds up his hand, and she pauses, a cold smile sliding over her lips. He takes a breath, and whispers what he knows will be his final words.  
  
"Do you hate me, my Frozen Moon?"  
  
She raises her wand; he knows this is the end. But has done what he set out to do. He's reminded her, reminded her of her past, her life, her heart, by calling her that. He's redeemed himself, done all he can to take back what he's done. She raises her wand, and calls out the last two words he'll ever hear.  
  
"Avada Kedavra."  
  
He falls, silver eyes still wide open, but no surprise lingers there. All that is there is love. She turns her back to him and whispers the last two words she'll ever say.  
  
"No, Draco."  
  
A raven screams, and she dies.  
  
Fin 


End file.
